And in OH to be a different person is
   to give and to be a friend is to be
   a catalyst. When I was there I was
   a little lonely but it was home. When I
   came home to Home I was at peace
   but then the world descended and the
   word was the only place within reach of
   insanity. I forgot to be afraid and
   remembered that my heart was sold when
   I turned fifteen. It's taken until
   now to get it back--but then I suppose
   I was only fooling anyway. Last
   week I got all the wat to Hwy.
   52 before I had to turn around
   and come back. Maybe next time I'll
   go all the way to 77 and head north.

On the other side of the sidewalk there sat a
   small child. Watching from the sidelines
   as her world was torn in half. She was
   there behind the pavement and her mother on
   the street. With a roll across the median
   a flip across the skid the only peace in
   life was melting now into the salty road.

Last week I fell into a deep sleep and awoke
   feeling sand between my toes. I
   couldn't tell where it all was going but I
   knew I honestly wanted the warm wind to
   cease. My heart was wrinkling and only I
   had the initiative to feel the little universal eye
   shut. It was painful, and the oldest ghost
   hissed when the eyelashes touched the cheek.
   The oldest ghost felt a silent burn when the
   strongest seer went blind. I felt nothing but
   scared and I knew that I had finally built
   a ruin that all kings labor to sustain. In
   the rain I absorbed the sky's tears in a
   longing for my own. No one could tell me
   I wasn't feeling but I wasn't feeling
   at all; so in the sunshine I wouldn't
   wither if I drank the misery. But the
   only solace was temporary and
   I kept on eating the desert winds
   until my throat was a wasteland of
   dark and light. The music stopped.